Beast of Burden
by PomegranateQueen
Summary: Take The Rolling Stones mix in karaoke and HP and you get this. Set post Hogwarts, written post HBP. Canon pairings.


Title: Beast of Burden

Summary: Drunk karaoke love.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything HP related nor do I own _Beast of Burden_. The former belongs to J.K. Rowling while the latter belongs to the Rolling Stones.

Author's notes: I wrote this one around Valentine's Day because the annoyingly pink plot-bunnies would not stop chaising me around and this was the only way to shut them up. This is only a songfic because of the karaoke (I swear, I don't have a weird obsession with writing songfics. :looks shifty-eyed: Honestly). It also takes place sometime after Hogwarts. And, yes, I am aware that this has (probably) been done before, but, no, I'm not actively plagiarizing. Also, this hasn't been beta'd as it's just a silly drabble.

* * *

In a small, out-of-the-way pub somewhere in the Scottish countryside, a man with somewhat unkempt, heavily grayed brown hair wove through a dense crowd, populated more with tables than with people, up to a stage. The spotlight shone across the stage, highlighting the lone microphone and wooden barstool. With a vague sort of unsteadiness, the man ascended the few steps up the stage and approached the large bulk of machinery hidden in the shadows of the stage. Giving a sway and a belch, he stood in front of a computer screen, and, after pressing the screen a few times, turned and gave a thumbs up to the crowd assembled before him. He strode into the spotlight and took the microphone from its stand. His face was lined with age and faintly scarred from long-past injuries. With sagging eyelids, he gave the crowd a toothy grin, focusing on a booth containing five redheads of varying age—though all younger than him—a brunette woman and a black haired man, and attempted to seat himself on the barstool. It took him three tries to really get it right enough to stay put.

The first strains of the song twanged out from the speakers and, if it were possible, his grin grew wider. Grins began to sprout on the faces of those in the booth he focused upon. Recognition had set in. But it wasn't until the first lines of the song that the sloppy grinning and none-too-subtle snickering grew into out-right belly-laughing and cat-calling.

_I'll never be your beast of burden_

The man's off-key tenor rang out as he stared at one of the redheads in particular. She was older than the other redheaded woman, but not as old as the man on stage. Her hair was a red so bright it rarely occurred in nature—and even then, it was mostly as flowers. Her cheeks were rosy. She grinned along with the rest of her party, though only her eyes held that same light-of-love as those of the man on stage.

_My back is broad but it's a hurting  
All I want is for you to make love to me  
I'll never be your beast of burden  
I've walked for miles my feet are hurting  
All I want is for you to make love to me_

Her cheeks grew even rosier as he continued his performance.

_Am I hard enough?  
Am I rough enough?  
Am I rich enough?  
I'm not too blind to see _

I'll never be your beast of burden  
So let's go home and draw the curtains  
Music on the radio  
Come on baby make sweet love to me

The group around her had settled somewhat now that the novelty of it had passed. They sat back and watched, only giving the occasional whistle here and there—and that was mostly from the redheaded twins.

_Am I hard enough?  
Am I rough enough?  
Am I rich enough?  
I'm not too blind to see_

Across the table, the brunette woman gave the youngest of the red-haired men a secret smile—the coy-yet-burning-with-intentions type that only lovers can share—which he returned. Underneath the table, she slid her off her shoe, and rubbed her bare foot up his leg. The bespectacled, black-haired man sat up slightly with a jolt. The brunette withdrew her foot from the leg of his jeans and moved it over a bit to find the right leg, her own cheeks flushed to match the woman being serenaded.

_Oh little sister  
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, girl  
You're a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl  
Pretty, pretty  
Such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl  
Come on baby please, please, please _

I'll tell ya  
You can put me out  
On the street  
Put me out  
With no shoes on my feet  
But, put me out, put me out  
Put me out of misery

The black-haired man set his bright green eyes on the youngest of the women and smiled widely. She returned it, adding a bit of heat to the gaze which sent a pleasant warmth running all about him. His eyes crinkled and he reached across the table to grab her hand and pull her to the miniscule, empty bit of floor space in front of the stage. Once there, she slung her arms about his neck and he pulled her against him, holding her close.

_Yeah, all your sickness  
I can suck it up  
Throw it all at me  
I can shrug it off  
There's one thing baby  
That I don't understand  
You keep on telling me  
I ain't your kind of man _

Ain't I rough enough, ooh baby  
Ain't I tough enough?  
Ain't I rich enough, in love enough?  
Ooh! Ooh! Please

A few scattered couples joined the one on the dance floor—including the redheaded man and the brunette. The formerly cat-calling twins each slung an arm about the others' shoulders and began swaying and half-singing along to the almost caterwauling of the man on stage.

_I'll never be your beast of burden  
I'll never be your beast of burden  
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be  
_

The green-eyed man stared down into the brown ones of the woman he held close to him. With a smile, he pressed his lips against hers. Also on the tiny bit of dance floor, the brunette woman sighed contentedly and leaned her head into the decidedly taller redheaded man's chest. He closed his eyes and pulled her closer to him, hugging her more than actually dancing with her.

The redheaded woman in the booth ignored the swaying pair still sharing the booth with her, enjoying the man on stage. Her eyes watered._  
_

_I don't need no beast of burden  
I need no fussing  
I need no nursing  
Never, never, never, never, never, never, never be_

As the song ended, the man set the microphone back in its place. Amidst a mild applause, he descended the stage, and navigated back to the booth. The beginnings of a new song began as another slow song. He held his hand out to the woman. The smile on her face remained as she took his hand. Once on the floor, he pulled her to him and whispered into her ear, "Happy anniversary, Mrs. Lupin." Before pressing his lips to hers and kissing her soundly.


End file.
